


Friendship (According to Lord Voldemort)

by phqyd_roar



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Lucius being drunk, M/M, Power Play, Stockholm Syndrome, Voldemort being Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-29 00:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17797964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phqyd_roar/pseuds/phqyd_roar
Summary: Lord Voldemort's friendship is not something which can be refused.——“Have I not introduced myself? How unforgivably rude of me.” Voldemort took Lucius’ hand and kissed it, noting with pleasure the way Lucius flinched at his touch. “Lord Voldemort.”“The vigilante?”Voldemort’s lip curved in amusement.“Is that what you heard?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Am going through and uploading some old files of short HP porn with very little plot. This one is surprisingly non-explicit.

_December 1970_

 

“Narcissa, __please-__ _ _”__

“No. No. Shut up, Lucius, I don’t want to hear you talk. I don’t even want to see your face.”

“I apologize! I’m sorry! I’ve said so a hundred times and I swear I’ll never do it again. Narcissa!”

“Again? You don’t need to do it again. Parkinson saw you with that scum and I’m sure all of Hogwarts knows by now. You cheated on me with __Snape__. Severus Snape. I cannot believe-you have embarrassed me. I am mortified. We are over, Lucius Malfoy, __leave me alone__.”

 

* * *

 

Lucius gulped down his firewhiskey like it was water. Two empty bottles stood before him already, and a third was sizzling with a quarter left. It was four in the morning and he was still not engaged to Narcissa Black. Well, some more firewhiskey might solve that. With an unsteady hand, Lucius emptied the remaining bottle into his goblet, till it brimmed out and charred the bar top.

A hand deftly plucked the bottle from him and threw it away. Dimly, Lucius noted that it belonged to a man who was standing behind him, so close that his cloak-ties were brushing against Lucius’ back. Lucius shuddered and knocked over his goblet, feeling something sizzle down his spine. Probably the firewhiskey.

“Another bottle,” Lucius ordered hoarsely, raising his head to look at the barman. The barman was not there. Neither, in fact, was the bar.

Cool fingers lifted his chin and Lucius found himself staring into an excessively handsome face. A biting wind cut into his thinly-clad body, awakening him and alerting him to the fact that he had at some point in the last few seconds left the murky confines of the Hog’s Head and relocated to a country lane.

“It is really a very dangerous thing to drink alone, Mr Malfoy.”

Lucius blinked, and stepped away, only to find that the ground spun, and his legs were not fit to handle that.

The stranger scooped him up in his arms, and his lip curved into a smile. Carrying Lucius in his arms, he strode quickly forwards. Lucius’ head was filled with firewhiskey and he could not think. The next thing he knew, he was being placed on a fur rug in front of a warm fire.

“Indeed, you are quite a charming creature...”

The stranger brushed Lucius’ hair away from his face and caressed his cheek. In the light of the fire Lucius saw a crimson tint in his eyes and suddenly he was terrified. He shied away and tried to lift himself up, and those crimson-tinted eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What’s the matter?” Said he, and his fingers clamped down on Lucius’ shoulders, pinning him down firmly.

“No, no, Narcissa!” Lucius gasped, shaking his head and struggling fervently.

“Narcissa? No, I’m afraid she doesn’t suit you, my dear. You would prefer to part your lips for something more fiery than her silken folds, would you not?”

“Severus...”

“Oh, not Severus either. He is but a child. You need-”

He swooped down and kissed Lucius roughly. “Me.”

His fingers hooked into Lucius’ collar, and the next second, Lucius’ robes vanished. Lucius whimpered, but he couldn’t move, barely breathe. 

 

The night was long and terrible. Lucius had never known such pain, and tears leaked from his eyes as he was violated again and again. His comprehension was dulled, his memory broken into fleeting scraps. He pleaded, struggled, called for his father, his teachers, his friends. He vomited more than once and was punished for it. Finally, he slipped into unconsciousness with the fervent hope that he had experienced a horrible dream.

 

* * *

 

Voldemort gently fed Lucius a sobering potion, grinning wickedly at the confusion on the boy’s face. He waited patiently, smiling pleasantly, as Lucius gathered himself. 

Little Lucius Malfoy found himself in a rather compromising position. His nude body was littered with suggestive bruises, and the locations of certain pains must inform him of what had occurred while he was intoxicated and helpless. Voldemort made no attempt to pretend Lucius had been a willing participant - he suspected Lucius had not been so drunk as to entirely lose his memories of the night.

“You must be either very foolish, or very dangerous,” said Lucius, his voice hoarse from unspeakable things.

Yes, Voldemort agreed in idle thought. Who indeed would be so foolish as to tempt the infamous wrath of House Malfoy?

“Have I not introduced myself? How unforgivably rude of me.” Voldemort took Lucius’ hand and kissed it, noting with pleasure the way Lucius flinched at his touch. “Lord Voldemort.”

“The vigilante?”

Voldemort’s lip curved in amusement.

“Is that what you heard?”

“Might I have my clothes back?” Lucius enquired, icily polite.

“I’m afraid they are quite...ruined. You may borrow some of mine, if it would make you more... _ _comfortable__.”

Trying and failing not to look mortified, Lucius snatched the robe Voldemort had levitated to him and hurriedly donned it. More composed with his pitiful covering, he said, “And my wand, if you don’t mind?”

“If I don’t mind?” Voldemort repeated in a mocking drawl, plucking said wand from his pocket and twirling it.

Lucius got to his feet and stared at him with studied indifference.

“Yes. Or is there something else I can do for you?”

Voldemort considered him thoughtfully.

“I imagine it must cause some discomfort to sit right now. Wouldn’t you rather be _on your knees_?”

Lucius was forced to his knees with a thud at the suggestion. When Voldemort lifted the _Imperius_ , Lucius stayed down, head bowed, fists clenched at his sides.

“I am pleased to see that you have some instinct for self-preservation. Gryffindors are just awful. It is as though they cannot comprehend how miserable I can make them - with very little effort on my part. Foolish, no?”

Lucius made no response, did not move at all, in fact. Voldemort leaned forward and lifted Lucius’ chin with the tip of the boy’s wand. Still Lucius kept his gaze cast to the side, clearly forewarned of his powers.

“Where are your manners, Lucius?”

The boy lifted his gaze to oblige Voldemort for a fleeting second before he jerked away from Voldemort’s touch.

Voldemort was pleased at what he saw. He dangled the wand carelessly from his fingertips, hoping Lucius would be tempted to grab for it. He did so enjoy inflicting pain, after all.

“I hope you shall find it in yourself to forgive me for introducing myself so brazenly. I have long desired an audience with you. You see, our mutual friends have impressed upon me your noble qualities, and I see that they have spoken well. I hope we can become friends ourselves. What say you?”

“I can hardly refuse,” replied Lucius after a tight pause.

“Wonderful,” said Voldemort. “Would you be so good as to give me your left arm?”

Lucius let out a short gasp, the only indication he had made thus far of his intense terror.

“What-what for?”

“It is my habit to impart a mark of my friendship.”

“Surely,” Lucius’ voice cracked. “We are not such __good__ friends, yet.”

Quickly, Voldemort’s hand darted out to seize a handful of Lucius’ hair, pulling painfully until Lucius was forced to look at his smiling countenance.

“You wound me. I should have thought time to be of little consequence considering our intimate acquaintance.”

Lucius shuddered. His pale grey eyes glistened with tears. Voldemort felt heady with the power of it, desire surging through him to take, to break, again.

“I find your beauty mesmerising.” Voldemort admitted in a hushed, secretive tone. “Won’t you assure me of your companionship, my dear?”

Lucius swallowed heavily. Eyes downcast, voice wavering with tears, he said carefully, “It seems...unlike you...to ask.”

“You know me well,” Voldemort said warmly, all the more sarcastic despite that none of it showed in his tone. “I do have a rather demanding nature. I am fortunate that my friends tend to see my way. You see, sometimes I simply do as I wish and wait for them to come around. On other occasions, I am patient enough to persuade them. Would you like to be persuaded? It would be no hardship at all.”

By this time, Lucius was trembling finely as Voldemort petted his hair.

“It is not that I wish to insult you with my hesitance, of course,” Lucius said quietly, “I hope you are not offended...it is just that I know very little...what it would mean, to be your __friend__.”

“Is that what worries you?” Voldemort chuckled. “You may rest your mind. I ask of my friends just the same as any other man. Loyalty. Companionship. Sympathy with my ambitions. Perhaps, to do a favour to me once in a while. Nothing that you would be uncomfortable with.”

“I see. Won’t you...please...allow me to think on it a while?”

“ _ _Crucio__.”

Voldemort watched Lucius scream at his feet for long seconds.

“Is that long enough?” He asked mildly.

Lucius sobbed desperately. When Voldemort deliberately lifted his wand again, he recoiled violently.

“No, no, I will-” He lifted his arm for Voldemort, who took it and pushed Lucius’ sleeve back, rubbing his thumb against Lucius’ palm.

Voldemort took care in forming the Dark Mark on Lucius’ pale forearm, binding tendrils of his magic with the boy’s, silently chanting the long contract before the final incantion.

 

* * *

 

“Do wipe away your tears, Lucius. You don’t want to give the idea that this is not a happy occasion, do you?”

Lucius’ crying lowered in volume. Voldemort pulled the boy onto his lap and brazenly fondled him. He noticed, but cared very little, that Lucius was stiff, cringing at his touch. It was no matter. He could make the boy receptive to him, if he was in the mood for that.

“I had invited a few mutual friends for tea with me today. I am sure they shall be pleased to find that you have joined their ranks. Now, I wonder, would you rather they know you to be weak, foolish, and incapable of protecting yourself? Or shall we tell them that I have patiently courted you for weeks, and wooed you to our Cause?”

Lucius conceded that the latter was preferable.

“I can tell that we are to become good friends, and you are a very worthy one. You are prudent, have a quick mind, and admirable self-control. I am fortunate indeed.”

Voldemort delivered this praise in a warm baritone, biting Lucius’ ear.

“Thank you,” said Lucius politely, still tense.

“Have you heard what my friends call me, Lucius?”

“My lord.”

Voldemort hummed with pleasure, rolling up his hips to press his erection firmly into Lucius’ backside.

“My lord...please allow me a moment to compose myself before seeing our friends. I would not wish them to be unduly jealous of our intimacy.”

Amused, Voldemort did not protest as Lucius escaped his embrace. The boy took several steps back with barely concealed fear, and leaned against the bed post for support, clutching his left arm with his right hand.

“Here.”

Lucius’ gaze snapped to him, alarmed and alert. Voldemort held out the boy’s wand. Lucius stepped forward cautiously to take it, and attempted not to touch Voldemort’s hand while he retrieved it. Voldemort refused to let go. Childish, perhaps, but effective.

“Thank you,” Lucius said. “My lord.”

Voldemort released his grip with a smile. The Malfoy boy would certainly be an excellent addition to his collection. What joy it was, watching these highborn fools yield themselves to him, piece by piece. They would all kneel for him, cry for him, beg for his attention, his mercy. And look, this one was pretty, too. Perhaps next, he would court one of the notoriously handsome and deviant members of House Black. Once he branded them, they would never walk away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically...is it really any surprise that Lord Voldemort is a terrifying, manipulative, rapey bastard? Makes you wonder how many of the Death Eaters really want to be there...precious few of them sought their master after his apparent death, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius' POV.

The Dark Lord’s new obsession is Regulus Black, who is pale and beautiful and silent. His cousin, Bellatrix, is spitting with jealousy. The Dark Lord purrs his name and smiles and flirts with him in front of everyone, barely making even a passing effort to conceal that he’s fucking the boy. Regulus is only fifteen. Lucius is annoyed and relieved. 

Lucius had been the flavour of the hour, once. It was nothing he would ever have freely desired, nothing to _miss_ , at all. Lucius watches Bellatrix pick on poor Regulus Black and curls his lip in contempt. Bellatrix is weak and desperate for attention and lacks an ounce of self-control. Contempt for Bellatrix draws his attention away from his own burning gut, from the horrible knowledge that he wishes to kneel between Lord Voldemort’s legs so badly his mouth waters at the thought. It was sick. He was sick and he would never be well, not as long as his immortal, eternal master had branded him and enslaved him.

One moment of weak-terrified-helpless-no-choice when he was seventeen, one foolish evening of leaving himself alone and unprotected had gotten Lucius here, bound in eternal servitude. The first few months, he had been exactly where Regulus was now – spending almost every night in his lord’s bedchambers, never more than three steps from his side or a painful summons away, paraded in front of his comrades like a prized conquest. Lucius had never liked it – _never_ , not even if he had begged for more, writhed in need, not if even now his cock swelled when the Dark Lord looked at him that way. Every day he had hoped it was over, and eventually the interest in the Dark Lord’s eyes grew dim. One day he gave Lucius excellent advice on winning Narcissa Black’s hand in matrimony and never touched Lucius again. Lucius married Narcissa, he loves Narcissa, and he doesn’t, _doesn’t_ regret it or wish to resume his carnal relationship with his lord in any way. Lucius reminds himself of this several times a day, if necessary, and meets Lord Voldemort’s eyes as little as possible. The way he looks when he knows what Lucius is thinking makes Lucius want to vomit.

The worst part about it is that he is not a great wizard at all, whatever Lucius would prefer to believe. The worst part is that Lucius is just clever enough to recognise the truth of it all, but not clever enough to be unaffected.

The truth is that Lord Voldemort is powerful, but far from on par with the most powerful wizards of the era. Nor is he particularly smart in any of the ways that matter. Lucius honestly suspects that he is not, as he claims, a pureblood, because for all Lord Voldemort’s impeccable manners, he does not think or act like a pureblood at all. Lucius would know. For one, no pureblood dark wizard in history has ever hidden their family name.

Lord Voldemort’s specialty is cruelty, manipulation, and intimidation. He is a veritable expert on using the dark side of human nature to his advantage. Lucius does not know how the Death Eaters originated, but he knows why they stay. The Dark Mark’s primary function is to submit its wearer to unspeakable pain escalating with the length of time the summons is unanswered. Once answered, power dynamics and peer pressure do the rest of the job. It is ridiculous that Lucius cares where he stands in the circle, but he does. He has done and will do horrific things to maintain it. They bicker and sneer and trip each other up in competition for a word of praise from their master, and no one knows how reluctant anyone else is to be there.

For all Lucius knows these things and has lain awake countless nights thinking about it, it is all useless when he is in the Dark Lord’s presence. And it’s not just because of the Mark, would be so much easier if it was. It is because Lucius knows Lord Voldemort is _not_ a greater wizard than he, but when he is in front of him, that seems like a crazy idea. It seems appropriate to scrape and grovel and obey his every command. Lucius has checked extensively that it is not a compulsion charm. Although he hopes to be mistaken, it is just his mind being weak.

Then there is Narcissa, and Draco, and Lucius has lain awake for more nights wondering why the Dark Lord allowed him to marry Narcissa, whether he did it on purpose. Narcissa has never met the Dark Lord, is vaguely disapproving of the whole endeavor. Lucius has tried very hard to make it appear to be a grand, idealistic, revolutionary thing to her, no matter what she has heard. Draco has recently learned to walk. When he stumbles into Lucius’ arms, blond hair tousled, and looks at Lucius as though he believes Lucius could give him the world, Lucius is utterly terrified. Lucius’ family is everything he could have wanted, and the Dark Lord could easily break it. Knowing him, he might do it just because it’s _funny_ , if Lucius doesn’t try his utmost hardest to please him.

Lucius does not want a marriage like Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange’s. He hears rumours of what they do with the Dark Lord, witnesses their strange arguments. The two of them are equally obsessed over their master. They are utterly out of their minds. It is a great fortune to the world that Bellatrix is incapable of producing children. Lucius has nightmares of the Dark Lord talking to Narcissa, _touching_ her, while he stands there impotently unable to lift his wand against him. Once he had to dispose of a boggart on the second floor and then had to make excuses to sleep in a spare bedroom for a week. The more Lucius is terrified of it, the more he is convinced that the Dark Lord knows, because he finds weakness more surely than any predator.

Lucius is not yet equally frightened for his son, because the Dark Lord doesn’t like them _that_ young. But soon, so soon, Lucius’s son will be a young man, and Lucius will be able to do nothing to save him. His child believes Lucius can give him anything, but all Lucius can give him is a legacy of enslavement. The only thing he can do is bring Draco up to believe this farce, so he will have illusion to soften the misery. Lucius does not wish on his son the self-loathing and agony he constantly lives with.

 

* * *

 

 

When Lucius finds Regulus Black on the balcony, he knows from personal experience that Regulus is contemplating suicide. He recognizes this with a rush of pleasure, for he has never before been able to tell, for sure, that another Death Eater hates this. Even with Severus…he only suspects. If Severus hates it, he is an _exceptional_ actor. Regulus’ expression shutters at once, but Lucius went through the same etiquette lessons. He finds himself unwilling to fall into roleplay again. 

“Me too,” he says without preamble.

“ _Really_?”

Regulus is _so_ young. Lucius feels a moment of sympathy at the short spill of emotion over Regulus’ pale face. Lucius shrugs, feigns interest in the grounds of the Lestrange Estate.

“I suppose it gets better, then?”

“Oh no,” Lucius says. “It gets much, much worse. If you have that luxury…you might be best served to take it soon, before there is too much to lose.”

 

* * *

 

 

That is the extent of Lucius’ conversation with Regulus on the matter. As Regulus continued to hold the Dark Lord’s favour, it made Lucius feel better to have that knowledge. When Lucius is assigned on a mission with Regulus, the boy tries to talk about it. Lucius stops him. Mission memories are never safe.

“He borrowed my elf-” Regulus blurts out in such a tone that Lucius _knew_ he could not hear it.

“Whatever happens between our lord and you when you are alone remain between the two of you. You should know that by now, Black.”

Regulus looks pathetically disappointed for a while before he gives Lucius a look of silent recognition. Thank Merlin, he is not a complete fool. Lucius grows close to envying his youth before he remembers that he does not miss it, at all.

 

* * *

 

Suddenly, it does not matter remotely whether Lucius misses it or otherwise, because Lord Voldemort apparates into his study and fucks him on his desk. It is as awful as he remembers it. It is an interrogation. He holds Lucius’ chin and stares at him, long, rough thrusts jarring any Occlumency technique Lucius had ever mastered from his mind. He cries and thinks desperately that he must not think of the things his master cannot know, which, of course, only makes it worse.

Lucius is sobbing in terror, crumpled at his master’s feet, while the Dark Lord sits in his chair. He does not need to look up to know that Voldemort has dropped his pleasant façade. He fears for his family more than he fears for his life. Lucius didn’t think he was that sort of person, but he used to imagine he would have more to live for.

“What are you waiting for?” Voldemort says.

Lucius briefly thinks Voldemort is suggesting Lucius duel him. But that cannot possibly be it, so he dispels the thought before he looks up hesitantly.

“Aren’t you going to beg for mercy?”

“I have never known you to be merciful, whether they begged or not.”

Voldemort laughed. “True…”

Lucius closed his eyes and shivered.

“True…but you are useful yet.”

He kissed him before he left.

 

* * *

 

Lucius never saw Regulus Black again.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, the Dark Lord visits him once more with a grim, unfriendly look that is backed up when he opens his mouth.

“I have a trinket to leave in your temporary care.” He places a book on Lucius’ desk. “I want it to be exactly the same when I ask for it again in a month or two. If, for whatever reason, you fail this simple task, I will tear the clothes off your wife and paint your tiles with her blood. I will put you under the Imperius Curse and command you to strangle your infant son. I hate to be so heavy-handed, but…do we understand each other?”

Lucius barely remembers how he responded.

“I wouldn’t write in it if I were you,” he advised before he left.

(Years later, long after the time Lord Voldemort had promised to retrieve his trinket, Lucius looks into the name Tom Marvolo Riddle. He wonders if he had chosen Lucius to look after this trinket precisely because Lucius didn’t believe in him anyway.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That...would explain a few things, wouldn't it? For example, how it is possible that an entire generation of Slytherins are murderous terrorists (Stockholm Syndrome is a terrible thing)...why ever-distrustful Lord Voldemort would give two horcruxes to his followers, and especially one with his real name on it. Presumably he was just moving them, then he died.
> 
> With this headcanon, imagine how sarcastic Voldemort is being when he says at his rebirth, "Lucius...my slippery friend...I am told you have not renounced the old ways..."

**Author's Note:**

> Basically...is it really any surprise that Lord Voldemort is a terrifying, manipulative, rapey bastard? Makes you wonder how many of the Death Eaters really want to be there...precious few of them sought their master after his apparent death, after all.


End file.
